


Flesh Memories

by YukiRiikus_Reading_Room



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, Love Triangles, Masturbation, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Relationship(s), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukiRiikus_Reading_Room/pseuds/YukiRiikus_Reading_Room
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was starting to realize Snitches weren’t the only things that had flesh memory.</p><p>Lying in bed one night, Harry thinks back to the two nights after Ron left them during their trip to destroy horcruxes when Hermione crawled into his bed seeking comfort - once as a friend, and once as something more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flesh Memories

Harry was starting to realize Snitches weren’t the only things that had flesh memory.

Lying in his bed staring up at the darkness swirling above him, he could almost pretend the soft sound of Crookshanks snoring at the end of the bed was someone else lying next to him in the darkness, someone he craved so badly he physically ached.  Closing his eyes he breathed in deeply, trying to remember the smell of her perfume wafting over him as they danced at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, or the right angle of her smile when she held his hand at the ball in their honor at the Ministry for saving all of the Wizarding world. 

If he held perfectly still, he could remember the feel of her sliding into his bed the night after Ron had left them.  There had been nothing sexual in the way Hermione had clung to him, her face buried into hip shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him and shook out all her sobs, but he remembered it all the same.  It was the first time he’d held her like that, the first time he knew the exact weight and feel of her whole body pressed against his. 

The second time she crawled into his bed, both of them a little tipsy from the bottle of champagne she’d pilfered from a small town the day after Christmas, he didn’t protest when she straddled his waist and stared down at him with a cool determination that belied the feverish movements of her hands stroking up and down his torso.  He might have tried to stop her when she pulled her nightgown over he head, he couldn’t remember now, but the minute she leaned down and kissed him, all searing heat and want and _need_ , he knew he was done for. 

He’d be damned if he didn’t admit he’d wanted her then, wanted her every day since.  Just the memory of the way she’d felt pressed against him, so warm and soft and unyielding under his hands as he flipped them over and pressed her back into the mattress, was enough to make his back arch, his hand lazily trailing down his body and under the loose elastic of his sleep pants so he could wrap a hand around his cock.  As he imagined the way her hair had splayed across his pillows in a wanton display he’d permanently seared into his mind, his hand moved faster, Harry biting back a groan as he twisted his hand over the head sending a jolt up his spine.  His palms could still remember the exact curve of the swell of her breasts, the fingers of his free hand twisting in the sheets as he recalled her intake of breath when he’d tweaked her nipples gently, the way her kiss swollen lips had parted as she let out a soft moan and arched closer into his hands.

His cock throbbed harder in his hand as he remembered her tight heat, the wet pull of her body as he covered her body with his and surged into her, his mouth tender against her neck and collar bone as he thrust into her over and over again, her hips rising to meet his with every thrust. 

Licking his lips he remembered with acute detail the exact sound she’d made as she came, Harry jerking back to reality as he spilled over his hand, his breathing hard. 

Slowly swinging his legs over the edge of the bed he stood up, hissing as his feet hit the cold floor.  Padding quietly across the floor he headed into the bathroom to clean himself up.  Now that the rush was subsiding, the memories receding back into his subconscious for the next time he would call on them, he could feel the emptiness he’d felt blossoming in his chest since the day after the battle when Ron told him he’d kissed Hermione, that he was planning on telling her he loved her and asking her to be his girlfriend. 

He knew she would never be his to keep.

“Harry, what are you doing awake?”  He turned, a small smile sliding onto his face as Ginny strode across the room to give him a kiss before heading back across the room to slide off her Quidditch uniform.  “Sorry I was out so late, our practice ran over again.  I didn’t wake you when I came in did I?”

“No, I was already awake, don’t worry.”  He said reassuringly, sliding back into bed.  Ginny joined him a minute later, kissing his shoulder as she slid under the sheet and pressed into his side.  When she reached up and touched his cheek, turning his face towards hers, he kissed her as expected.  She melted into his embrace, her hand sliding under the hem of his shirt sliding up his chest as she pressed herself closer. 

He loved Ginny, he really did.

But deep in the recesses of his mind, as he touched her body, he thought of how different she was from Hermione, from the one night he her unrestrained passion was totally and entirely focused on him and their mutual pleasure.  He loved Ginny, he really did, but it was different. 

As he slid out of her, their satisfaction sated for the time being, he kissed her forehead, his mind a million miles away centered on a mane of brushy brown hair and sparkling eyes. 

“Ugh, Crookshanks get off my foot.”  Ginny whined, pushing him off the bed with her free leg.  Cuddling into Harry’s side she smiled, kissing his shoulder.  “I’ll be happy when Ron and Hermione get back from their honeymoon and take that fleabag back, won’t you?”

Harry didn’t answer, his throat contracting as he thought of his best friend’s wedding.  If Ron had been surprised to find out on their wedding night Hermione wasn’t a virgin, he hadn’t said anything - then again, he very much doubted Ron would want to bring that up with his wife when they both knew he’d lost his virginity when he was dating Lavender Brown and thus had no room to talk.  Still, he was glad he never had to tell Ron about his one tipsy fling with Hermione.

Besides, it would never happen again.  She was married now.

All he had left were flesh memories. 


End file.
